Stalker

Chapter Forty-Two

‘Good weekend?’ Matt asked, as Beth climbed into the passenger seat of the unmarked police car.

‘Slept for most of it,’ Beth said. ‘What about you?’

‘Same. Although I did play football yesterday morning. The first time in ages.’ Matt waited while she fastened her seat belt before pulling away. They’d arranged for him to collect her as it was on their way to Paul Mellows’ house and they wanted an early start. They should be there by 7.30am, hopefully before he left for work. They would take him in for questioning so the rest of the day was pretty much mapped out.

‘Still no sign of Flint then?’ Matt said as he drove.

‘No, no sighting since Wednesday. I’ll phone Mrs Flint when we’ve finished here and tell her we’re doing all we can to find him. Also, as soon as we’ve got Paul, I need to update the boss. The DCS is involved now.’

The traffic kept moving and they arrived at Mellows’ house on time. Matt parked right outside as there was no need for subtlety now. They were going to arrest Paul. The front bedroom curtains were open and a light was on in the hall. ‘Someone’s up, then,’ he said, opening his car door.

They went quickly up the garden path and Matt gave the doorbell one long, hard push. It was answered almost immediately by Mrs Mellows, dressed ready for work and looking anxious.

‘Paul’s not here,’ she said. ‘He hasn’t been back all weekend.’

‘Where is he?’ Beth asked.

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Has he phoned?’

‘He’s been texting. His work clothes are here. I don’t know what he thinks he’s playing at.’

‘Can we come in?’

She opened the door wider to allow them in. A teenage girl still in her nightwear crossed the hall behind her on her way upstairs. ‘You need to be out of here in fifteen minutes,’ Mrs Mellows called after her. ‘I don’t want you being late too.’

‘Does he often stay out?’ Matt asked.

‘Sometimes the odd night, but not the whole weekend without letting me know where he is.’

‘Can I have a look at the text messages?’ Beth asked.

‘Come through.’ They followed her into the living room where they’d previously seen Paul. Mrs Mellows took her mobile from the coffee table and handed it to Beth. She angled it so Matt could see too as she scrolled down. Most of the messages were from Mrs Mellows as she’d grown increasingly worried, starting on Saturday morning.

Paul, it’s 8am. Where are you?

No reply. She sent a similar message again at 11.45am. Still no reply.

At 2pm she texted: Paul can you please phone or text to let me know you’re OK.

He’d replied an hour later: be back later or first thing in the morning.

At 7am on Sunday she’d texted: where are you?

No reply.

At 11.15am she’d texted: I’m worried. Phone or text please.

At 12.23pm he replied: I’m staying rest of weekend with friends. Will be home Monday.

‘I’ve tried phoning this morning but it just goes through to his voicemail,’ she said, with a mixture of exasperation and concern.

‘Does he have a girlfriend he could be with?’ Beth asked, handing her back the phone.

‘It’s possible, that crossed my mind. Paul finished with his last girlfriend a few months back – or rather she finished with him. But he hasn’t mentioned that he’s seeing anyone new.’

‘Could we take a look at his room?’ Beth asked.

‘I don’t see why not, although it will have to be quick as I’ve got to leave for work soon. You don’t think anything has happened to Paul, do you?’

‘I’m sure he’s fine,’ Beth said. ‘He’s been in contact.’

On the landing a shower could be heard running from the bathroom. ‘Hurry up!’ Mrs Mellows called to her daughter through the door. Then with a sigh to Beth, ‘There’s no way she’s leaving on time.’

A normal family at the start of the working week, Beth thought. Why had Paul gone off the rails and turned into a blackmailer? Greed? Drug money? He wouldn’t be the first. Or was it for another reason they had yet to discover?

Mrs Mellows opened Paul’s bedroom door. The room contained the usual detritus associated with a young single man living at home. His bed was unmade, a used mug, plate, and glass were on the bedside cabinet, and the chair and floor were clearly used as wardrobe.

‘I make no apology for the mess,’ Mrs Mellows said. ‘It’s his space so his responsibility.’

Beth smiled. But in contrast to the shambles of an unkempt room, an expensive and new high-tech Smart TV with a sophisticated gamepad controller stood against one wall.

‘Nice,’ Matt said, going over for a closer look. ‘Wish my salary could stretch to one of these. Birthday present?’

‘No, his new job is paying well,’ Mrs Mellows said.

Matt threw Beth a doubtful look.

An older laptop, closed, lay on the bed beside a pile of unwashed clothes, which spilled onto the floor. ‘I do his laundry,’ Mrs Mellows said, following Beth’s gaze, ‘but I’m not his servant. He seems to think his dirty clothes will find their own way to the laundry basket.’ She gave a small humph.

Beth went to a pile of T-shirts. One in particular had caught her eye and she picked it up. ‘You’re brave touching his dirty washing,’ Mrs Mellows said.

‘Where did this come from?’ Beth asked, holding it up so Matt could see the design on the front.

‘Internet, I suppose, or The Mall,’ Mrs Mellows replied. ‘There’s a stall there that prints T-shirts with whatever you like.’

‘Do you know what Watching You is?’ Beth asked.

‘I assume some sort of boy band? Why?’

‘It came up recently in another context. Must be a coincidence.’

Mrs Mellows nodded. ‘Look, I’m sorry to rush you but I really do need to leave for work. Could you come back this evening when Paul’s here?’

‘Yes, of course. We won’t keep you; thank you for your time,’ Beth said.

They went out of the bedroom and downstairs.

‘Try his mobile, you may have more luck,’ she suggested as she saw them out. ‘Although it’s likely to be switched off if he’s working.’

‘We will. Thank you.’

‘I’ve never heard of a band called Watching You,’ Matt said as they returned to the car.

‘Neither have I, and it would be too much of a co-incidence if they both used exactly the same logos – the eye with a camera for the lens. It was identical to the one on the email on Flint’s laptop. Which rather confirms Paul was behind that email. But why go to the trouble of having a T-shirt printed?’

‘No idea. Let’s try his phone as his mother suggested,’ Matt said, settling into the driver’s seat.

Beth made the call. It went straight through to voicemail and she didn’t leave a message. ‘I think we should try the estate where he’s working and see if we can pick him up there. There can’t be that many trade vans in Cranberry Gardens. Flint is still missing and it now appears Paul could be too. Anyone can send a text message. It might not have been Paul, and Flint wouldn’t be the first person to murder his blackmailer.’

‘The worm turned,’ Matt said. He started the engine and pulled away. ‘And if he’s not there then we come back here later with a warrant so we can take Paul’s laptop and search the house.’

‘Agreed.’

The morning rush-hour traffic had built so it was 8.50am by the time they pulled into the estate.

‘The area hasn’t improved since the last time I was here,’ Beth said, glancing out of her side window. Matt turned into Bushmead Close. ‘This part is due for regeneration; I think most of the houses and flats are empty now.’

Matt nodded and cruised slowly down the close with both of them looking out. It was deserted. ‘No sign of any trade vans or workmen,’ Matt said. He did a three-point turn at the end and then drove slowly back.

‘I think Paul has been giving his mother a load of bull about working here,’ Beth said. ‘There’s no building work going on at all. In fact it looks like most of it is ready to be demolished.’

‘Back to the station then?’

‘Yes.’

Matt pulled to the end of the close and turned left. As he did the car phone rang and Beth pressed the speaker button.

‘Good morning, Beth, Matt.’

‘Good morning, sir,’ she said, automatically straightening in her seat. It was the DCS.

‘What’s happening with you two right now?’ he asked.

‘We’re just leaving the Cranberry estate, sir, on our way back. Paul Mellows wasn’t at home and there’s no sign of him where he’s supposed to be working so we’ll pick him up later with a search warrant.’

‘Fine, but don’t come back here. I need you to go to Flat 28, Fell Court. A community police officer has just called in with a suspected child abuse case. Matt can go with you.’

‘Very good, sir. We’re on our way.’

‘Thank you.’ The line went dead.

Beth pulled a face. ‘Just what we needed to start the week off.’

Matt sighed and turned the car around, as disconcerted as Beth at the prospect of investigating a child abuse case. No police officer relished investigating child abuse; it got to you in a way that other investigations didn’t. The details lingered and tormented you in the early hours. The look on the child’s face, lost and frightened, as they used childish language to describe what had been done to them. It definitely wasn’t a good start to the week. Flint was still missing, Paul had vanished, and now this.